


and it all leads back to you

by skjei



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, I love me some angst, M/M, but they are happy bois, i love dylan strome™️, ryan strome is a ranger and i live by that, there's some brady skjei/jimmy vesey if you SQUINT, trades suck sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22025713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skjei/pseuds/skjei
Summary: In fairness, Stromer should've seen it coming.(in which Ryan Stromer is traded to the New York Rangers and Ryan Nugent-Hopkins is there every step of the way).
Relationships: Ryan Nugent-Hopkins/Ryan Strome
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37
Collections: Hockey Holidays 2019





	and it all leads back to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eafay70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eafay70/gifts).



> eaf! this is for you!
> 
> i started this way too late and i thought it would be a cute lil fic but... it certainly _grew_ , to say the least. i am now emotionally attached to these boys which is just. super fun for me. but really i hope u like this!! i tried to acknowledge my brand (brady/jimmy) along with my ryan boys. i poured my entire being into this fic so like... i just really hope u enjoy it! happy holidays!!!!

In fairness, Stromer should’ve seen it coming. 

It’s frustrating, in Edmonton, barely being able to register two points while also playing on a sub par hockey team. The times of his 50 point season with the Isles seem like ages ago, trading in subway rides for snowed out roads and frozen pipes in Canada. 

He plays with Connor sometimes, and most of the time he doesn’t, but even when he does it just seems like he’s making the team worse. 

His demeanor is low, lower than it’s ever been. Nuge helps him out when he can, which often includes visiting Stromer’s apartment more than he should, sits with him on the couch as they order a large pepperoni pizza, laughing at stupid cartoons that make Stromer feel a little bit better, for a little while.

It happens like that, the first handful of games in October. He tries to avoid the media, and falls into an excruciating routine. Wake up, eat a bar for breakfast, practice, get home, nap, work out (this one is often questionable), talk to Nuge, eat dinner, sleep.

Stromer tries not to let it get to him, all of the stress. He doesn’t look online, obviously, but he knows well what hockey critiques and stats nerds are saying. 

Mr. Ryan ‘shooting percentage’ Strome. Yeah, he fucking knows. 

Ryan gets a call from the GM when he’s fucking grocery shopping, for once. He’s in the dairy aisle, eyes scanning through the glass, looking for the stupid boujee yogurt Nuge urged him non stop to get. Stromer’s ringtone makes him jump, immediately recognizing the number and answering before he can blink. 

He doesn’t ask Chiarelli to repeat any words. He doesn’t need him to.

Ryan gets traded to the Rangers. 

He meets with the media for a quick interview about the trade. A reporter from TSN asks him about New York, about the new experience, if this will be a huge change. 

“Yeah, for sure,” Ryan says, and everything is just instinct. “I’ve been to New York here and there, but I got to live there back when I played with the Islanders, so I’m pretty familiar with the city. But It’s definitely a big change - it’s a big change whenever you’re traded, so, I’m just excited to get this opportunity and to get started there,” and it’s a silly answer, but Stromer can’t seem to care enough to give a better one.

The article gets posted a little later, and he gets texts from a bunch of the guys. Connor wishes him well, Leon with a good luck text, and they’re all pretty similar. He’s grateful for them thought, and he sends out his appropriate ‘thanks’ and some hearts and he leaves it at that, because he hasn’t really got it in him to do anything more than that. 

Stromer’s got most of his stuff in boxes by one that next morning, collapsing on his couch when he only has one more drawer to empty. He knows that he should just power through and be done so he can get to bed sooner, but it wouldn’t him, Ryan fucking Strome, if he didn’t put something off at the end of the day. 

Stromer fights off sleep, his eyes threatening to close on him, when he feels his phone buzzing from his back pocket. He grabs it with no purpose, but his face falls when he reads the caller ID. 

It reads ‘Nuge🍑’ (peach emoji chosen by Nuge himself), and although Stromer loves the guy, he really, really wishes he wasn’t calling him right now. Because with the rush of emotions and hearing from the Rangers GM and him wanting Stromer to get there right away, he didn’t even think to, like, call anyone other than his mom and dad, Dylan, and Matt. 

Stromer answers before the call can expire. He doesn’t say anything right away, waits. 

He hears a swallow from the other side of the line. “Stromer?” Nuge asks, and Stromer wants unhear the way Nuge’s voice sounds so shaky, thinks it’s all in his head. It probably is, honestly, with all of the shitty nights and it being - being 1:14 in the morning. 

Stromer sighs, waits too long to answer. “Hey, Nuge,” he replies unwillingly, and he hears some unfathomable shuffling on Nuge’s end before he responds. 

“I heard,” he says, hesitantly, so it’s clear to Stromer that they are getting right into this. Stromer’s not sure what to respond with - it’s all been so much. He’s still grappling with the fact that this franchise - no. Dylan told him to stop talking like that after getting traded by the Islanders. It’s not that the organization just - doesn’t want him. It’s business; hockey is business, and Stromer is working in a business that revolves around a franchises well-being -

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stromer is forced away from his thoughts when Nuge speaks up again, harsher than Stromer had expected from him. He’s left without words once more, his hand shaking, holding the phone against his ear. 

“I - I didn’t -” Stromer fumbles on his words just to get something out into the open and it’s so lacking, so not enough, but he just wants everything to be okay because everything really isn’t at the moment. 

“Shit, Stromer, I didn’t -” Nuge’s voice feels closer, this time, and Stromer tries to relax because his tone doesn’t nearly match what it had been just a few moments earlier. “I didn’t mean it like that, you know that. I just -” Nuge pauses, again, and Stromer waits, again. 

“Are you home right now?” Nuge asks, and Stromer nods before realizing that Nuge cannot, in fact, see him. 

“Yeah,” Stromer breathes out, a lot smaller than he had intended. He hears keys rattling on the other end of the line and he closes his eyes. 

“I’m comin’ over now, ok?” and it’s more of a rhetorical question, Stromer knows by now, from countless phone calls at various hours in Edmonton. It doesn’t matter what time it is, with Nuge.

Stromer tries to curl his lip upward into a smile, barely. “What, are you my mother?” he asked, more sharp than humorous. He hears Nuge stifle a laugh on the other side of the line. Stromer chalks it up as a win. 

“You know what - maybe I am, Stromer. Maybe I am your fucking mother,” Nuge’s tone is exhasperated, and Stromer finds it crazy how his mood has already improved from a simple phone call that was well under five minutes.

Stromer’s laying on his couch when he hears a knock, whispers “it’s open”, not even sure if Nuge can hear him from behind the door, but Nuge opens it nonetheless, and it’s really not a surprise that Stromer’s apartment is open in the first place. It’s always been open, always been open for Nuge.

Nuge comes to a stop after he walks in, his eyes scanning Stromer’s apartment like it’s fucking Mars. Mars is probably cleaner than Stromer’s apartment, honestly. Nuges looks around, dozens of cardboard boxes taking the place of stupid furniture Stromer had picked when he moved here. His eyes reach Stromer, feet resting on a pillow and his neck awkwardly craned against the arm of the sofa. Stromer looks at him lamely. Nuge doesn’t say anything. 

Stromer chuckles under his breath. “‘Sup, asshole,” he remarks, watching Nuge’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he pulls his hands out of the pockets of his joggers. 

“Dick,” Nuge says, shaking his head. He puts his arms out. “C’mere, idiot,” he adds, looking at Stromer knowingly. Stromer sits up, and his feet are taking him over to Nuge without hesitation. 

Stromer hugs him, and it’s more of a goodbye than he wants it to be. Nuge pats him on the back a couple of times, and so does Stromer, and it feels weird like this, Stromer’s apartment emptied beside a cheap Ikea sofa and cardboard boxes. 

Stromer decides that this is a good time to say something, mostly because he doesn’t have to actually look at Nuge when he does. “Sorry,” he says, and it feels lacking, mostly because he really doesn’t have much to say sorry for. But the one thing he does need to apologize for is so much bigger than anything else. 

He’s not sorry for not telling Nuge. He’s sorry for letting him down. 

“Hey, man, you didn’t have to tell me right then, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” Stromer feels his words buzz near his ear, shakes his head. 

“Not that,” he puts it simply, and Nuge pulls away. Looks at Stromer as Stromer stares at his sock borne feet. 

“Then what?” he asks, and it sounds so simple and ridden with innocence, like he’s got no idea what Stromer is talking about. He’s just playing dumb, Stromer assumes. They both know well what Stromer means. Stromer shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweats. His skin burns under Nuge’s gaze.

“I’m sorry for - for letting the team down,” he says this quietly, enough that even if there was someone besides Nuge in the room, which there isn’t, they wouldn’t even hear it. Nuge’s gaze softens ever so slightly and Stromer doesn’t want that. 

Still, whether he thinks it’s safe or not, he adds “for you letting you down, asshole,” for good measure. It gets his point across, no matter how much of a dick he sounds. Nuge lets out an exasperated chuckle, one that sounds tired and overwhelmed, as it should, at nearly two in the morning. 

Nuge’s laugh makes Stromer stifle a laugh, and the tension isn’t as thick as it was just moments prior. Nuge shakes his head sympathetically, despite this.

“You’re not letting _anyone_ down. Okay?” he says this strongly and Stromer forces himself to nod. He can tell that Nuge can tell he disagrees, but says nothing. Nuge looks toward where Stromer’s kitchen used to be, the empty counter that was once ridden with keys and a Keurig and snacks he had neglected to put away. 

“Where’s your hot chocolate maker?” Nuge asks. Stromer shrugs his shoulders, nodding his head toward the abundance of boxes where the kitchen once was. 

“I don’t know, man, probably in one of these boxes somewhere,” Stromer dismisses it, but furrows his brows together once Nuge doesn’t let it go. 

“Why?” Stromer asks, because the Stromer asks, because the _fuck_ would Ryan Nugent-Hopkins need his hot chocolate maker at two in the morning. Nuge smiles at him, kneels down next to the nearest box and Stromer stares at him like he’s an alien. 

“How am I supposed to make you hot chocolate right now without a hot chocolate maker?” Nuge asks, completely serious dubbed with a wide grin. Stromer laughs out loud, really laughs, for the first time in what seems like years. And maybe it had been months since Stromer actually, truly had laughed.

So it’s nearly three when they find the machine, enough mix, and remember how to use a simple piece of machinery. They’re playing music straight off of the speaker in Stromer’s phone - mostly John Mayer, because Stromer will not deny himself of a good love song - while they (mostly Nuge, despite Stromer’s efforts) make hot chocolate. It’s practically done when Nuge says: “fuck. We need cups,” and sends Stromer off into the endless boxes to find any type of cup. 

When he does, it’s perfectly tragic, because it’s clear that Stromer’s apartment lacked in the cutlery department. He finds some plastic souvenir cup he had gotten from a Raptors game awhile back, and some other old Gaterade water bottle, and Nuge laughs heartily when he tosses him the cups. 

So then it’s three thirty, and Nuge and Stromer are sitting on the couch, happily sipping hot chocolate that they know their - Nuge’s - trainer would not appreciate whatsoever. Honestly, it’s not particularly cold (yet) in Edmonton, so they really have no excuse. But it’s fine, it’s fine, it really is, because Stromer’s with Nuge and it all feels right. Fine. 

Stromer takes a loud sip that draws Nuge’s attention. He pretends to think about it, think about every aspect of it’s taste. Basically, he’s being obnoxious, and Nuge looks at him like he has three heads. 

“What,” Nuge says flat, sensing something stupid is coming. He might be correct. Like - maybe. 

Stromer, glances at him, back at his cup. “It needs whipped cream,” he says promptly, and yeah. 

Nuge bursts out laughing, almost spills his chocolatey drink. “Oh, fuck you.”

Stromer wakes up to his alarm the next morning, earlier than he wants to, for sure. He checks his phone and it’s nearly seven, and Stromer’s not even sure when he went to bed, but he’s fucking exhausted. 

He walks into his living room, eventually, and there’s no trace of Nuge. No trace of hot chocolate, until Stromer sees the machine tucked into the box where it was found. Nuge must’ve cleaned up - Stromer doesn’t remember, he was basically half asleep. 

Stromer checks his phone again after pouring himself a cup of water, and he’s got a text from Nuge:

_hope u had a little fun. ill pick u up at 8:30 for ur flight :)_

Stromer smiles until he realizes that he doesn’t have a lot of time. He doesn’t have a lot of time until he’s getting in the car with Nuge, until he’s on a flight to New York, until he’s with a bunch of strangers and - and not in Edmonton anymore. 

The realization makes Stromer’s skin crawl and sends a chill up his spine. 

True to his word, Nuge shows up at 8:30 on the dot, and Stromer’s waiting outside his apartment. He’s got a suitcase and backpack, fresh off a call from the mover’s, how the’ll show up to grab the boxes and send them to New York. 

When Stromer gets in, Nuge’s got this smile on his face as he cranks up the radio to some stupid rap song that Stromer is like. Not a fan of. 

“Fuck you, turn that off!” Stromer yells over the blaring music and Nuge laughs as he wrestles Stromer away from the volume knob. After too long, Nuge turns it down, and Stromer sits back in his seat, breathless, mostly because it’s too early in the morning for this. 

“Good morning to you to, idiot,” Nuge laughs, and Stromer shakes his head with a stupid grin as they drive off into the chilly Edmonton day. 

They talk about everything and nothing, but they ignore the elephant in the room. Stromer is going to have to get on a plane, and this time, he’s not coming back.

The Edmonton airport isn’t far from Stromer’s apartment. It’s 40 minutes, give or take, but there’s almost no traffic, and Stromer and Nuge have never had a problem with filling silence with conversation. 

But this time, when they’re five minutes from the drop off, it gets quiet. Nuge taps his fingers against the wheel, and Stromer looks out the window. 

It’s a minute before Nuge speaks up. “Excited for New York?” he asks, his voice hushed, enough that Stromer can’t really hear him over the music. Stromer turns down the music a couple of notches, but Nuge then reaches in and turns it off completely. Now it’s silent, only the sounds of honks and tires on pavement. 

“I - Yeah,” Stromer admits, because he knows New York is a great city and isn’t nearly as cold as Edmonton. He glances over a Nuge, and sees his hands clench down on the wheel and let go again. He does it again, like he’s in pain, almost. 

“I mean, I’m -”

“You can be excited. You don’t need to lie,” Nuge says this with hurt in his voice, but Stromer didn’t intend for that at all. What is he supposed to say, like, oh no, absolutely not. Ryan Strome is not excited to play in New York City for an Original 6 franchise. Not at all. 

It’s more complicated than Nuge is making it out to be. But he’s not ending on a bad note. 

“Nuge,” Stromer says, mostly because he needs to fill the silence and think of how he’s going to fix this. Stromer looks out the window and sees the airport getting closer and closer. 

“I guess I’m both,” Stromer says, and Nuge looks at him, questioning. Stromer shrugs. 

“I’m excited for the hockey aspect of it, y’know? I’ve been sucking wind here in Edmonton -”

“No you haven’t -”

‘Yes, I _have._ ” Stromer cuts Nuge off, and Nuge looks back at the road. And back at him. Stromer doesn’t want to see how close the airport is. 

“It’s good for me, I guess. To get a fresh start. The only thing that’s getting me excited is playing good hockey again. I’m nothing without it,” Stromer admits, and Nuge is tapping his finger on the wheel, his left leg shaking. 

“You’re not nothing without it, Ry,” Nuge says, and Stromer doesn’t look at him. _Ry._

“You definitely not nothing without it. You’re one hell of a worker, an amazing teammate -” Nuge looks at Stromer. Stromer meets his eyes. The airport is closer than before. 

“To be honest, Stromer, I’m not sure what I’m gonna do without you,” his voice is even, not shaky, and Stromer envies him for a split second, wishing he could be as calm and collected. He snaps out of it almost immediately because they’re getting off at the exit of the airport. 

“What do you mean?” Stromer musters, shaky, uncertain, everything that Stromer doesn’t want to sound like. Nuge taps his fingers on the wheel, the only nervous sign that Stromer can identify. 

Nuge sighs. “I mean - it’s just gonna be weird not seeing you everyday. Like, I can’t race you at practice, I can’t drive you, we can’t order McDonald’s at three in the fucking morning,” Stromer manages a little laugh at the last thing, because the amount of times they’ve done that is concerning. Stromer looks at Nuge. He’s thinking.

“It’s like we’re losing everything,” he admits, and Stromer’s heart flips, and not in a good way. 

He’s honestly right. Everything that kept Stromer grounded is gone. Goodbye, out the window, see you later. But Stromer doesn’t want to believe that, he doesn’t _want_ that. He doesn’t want Nuge out of his life, he doesn’t want his life to crumble before him.

“Not everything,” Stromer finds himself saying. “We’re not gonna lose everything, Nuge. Not even close.” Nuge steadies his gaze ahead, making his way through the airport traffic. Stromer sees the drop off. 

“I’ll text your sorry ass every morning if I have to,” Stromer gives Nuge a little shove, and he’s smiling, thank God. Stromer thinks a little more, chooses his words delicately. 

“There’s the All Star break,” Stromer proposes. “Unless you become a complete fucking stud and you go to San Jose. Otherwise I’m in a bit of a predicament,” Nuge laughs at this, actually laughs, and Stromer breathes a sigh of relief. 

“And I think Edmonton’s only played New York once, so we have that, too,” Stromer says, reaching to the back of his mind. He’s not completely sure, but he thinks the Rangers already came to Edmonton, so he’ll be headed back there at some point in the near future. Nuge seems to have calmed down, as he turns right into the drop off area. He puts the car in park, and they sit there for a moment. Nuge turns to Stromer. 

“Let me help you with your bags,” he says, and unlocks the car for the both of them to get out. Stromer’s met with a twang of cold, and there’s a little more bite in the Edmonton air than he remembered. So far, that’s one of the only things he’s looking forward to. The not-Edmonton weather. 

Nuge pops the trunk and helps Stromer, but it really wasn’t anything Stromer couldn’t handle. Stromer lets him help, though, slings his backpack over his shoulder as Nuge gets his roller out of the trunk. 

It’s time, now. Stromer’s got his bags and the trunk is closed and Nuge turns to him. He’s got his arms crossed, hands warming underneath his arms. He’s not wearing a real coat, only an Oilers sweatshirt. Stromer doesn’t say anything, though. It’s quiet between them. 

Nuge double takes - the airport, Stromer. “This is it, eh?” it’s so dorky, it’s so stupid it’s so _Nuge,_ and Stromer has to smile. He sticks his hands in his pockets. 

“Your Canadian is showing,” Stromer laughs, and Nuge rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, really, Mississauga! It is?” Nuge shoves Stromer in the shoulder, and Stromer just laughs even more. It’s how it should be. But Stromer is cutting his flight close, and soon Rangers personnel will be calling him and he’ll be dead meat. He wants to make a good impression. 

But he shouldn’t worry about that right now, should he? Somehow, someway, for some reason, this feels so much more important.

Nuge pats Stromer on his shoulder, lets his hand stay there after three taps. It shouldn’t feel like anything more, but it does. 

“See you around,” Nuge says, letting a small smile form at the corners of his lips. Stromer smiles back, hopes to God it doesn’t look sad. He doesn’t want to drag this along anymore than it already has.

“See ya’, Nuge,” Stromer says, almost turning away before Nuge decided to hug him - wraps his arms around Nuge’s frame as if it’s muscle memory. It’s not long, because they’re at the Edmonton airport in front of people that most likely know who they are. Nuge pulls away first. 

Stromer gives him a smile before getting swallowed into the sea of people. Nuge watches him go. 

The Rangers get him a private jet, which is pretty fucking baller. 

Stromer sits on the plane with a couple of management guys - a couple of scouts - and some other security personnel that Stromer should get to know but doesn’t particularly want to. He’s making small talk, starting conversation with these random people that are probably getting paid overtime for flying to fucking Edmonton, Aberta and back just to personally pick up Ryan Strome. 

They talk about New York for a bit - the big city, the subway, Madison Square Garden. He asks about the Statue of Liberty, because that’s the main New York thing that Stromer can think of at the moment, and one of the security guys scoffs, says it’s a ‘tourist attraction’ and Stromer should ‘stay far away’ from it. He makes a mental note to see it in the near future, when he’s not playing hockey. 

Stromer gets bored, on the plane, and there’s still probably a few more hours to go, so he fakes a call. He had noticed a few notifications popping on his screen, eyeing the peach emoji next to a name all too familiar, and decides to excuse himself. He looks around and holds the phone close to his chest. 

“Excuse me, I have to take this real quick,” he says, standing up and walking away from guys that probably couldn’t give two shits. He calls Nuge, who picks up after one and a half rings. Stromer closes the door of the small plane bathroom. 

“MIssed me that much already, idiot?” Nuge remarks immediately, and Stromer laughs, trying not to make too much noise. 

“Oh, fuck you. You wish you were on a private jet with me, asshole,” Stromer teases Nuge, and he hears Nuge scoff. He didn’t mention the ‘private’ part of the jet in the car to Nuge, which is clearly hinted in Nuge’s tone of voice. 

“Private jet my ass,” Nuge says, and Stromer almost rebuttals, about to prove his words, when Nuge speaks up once more. 

“I do wish I was with you though,” he says, and Stromer swallows all of his words. Nuge’s voice feels closer than before. He hears him clear his throat, slightly, on the other side of the line. 

“Why did you call me, Stromer?” he asks, straight to the point. Stromer leans on the little plane sink, looks out the little window down 30,000 feet. He closes his eyes, then. 

“Just wanted to hear your voice,” Stromer says, and it’s true.

Stromer likes New York. He likes the Rangers. 

They’re all, like, super nice to Stromer, despite him being the new kid on the block. Mika Zibanejad gives him a tour of the facility in Westchester, Chris Kreider helps him shop apartments, and he goes out for coffee with Brady Skjei and Jimmy Vesey a few times. 

He notices a different dynamic between Brady and Jimmy, can’t quite put his finger on it. Stromer makes a mental note of the for later. 

Stromer ends up getting an apartment down the block from Kevin Hayes, mostly because Kevin’s a nice guy and they both don’t like cooking and prefer ordering Domino’s. 

They’re at Stromer’s apartment one night, eating garlic knots and watching Seinfeld, when Kevin reminds him. 

“How was life in Edmonton, anyway?” he asks, simply, and Stromer has to quickly swallow his food. He thinks, through the haze of the few beers he’s drunk, to what it truly was like. 

Inexplicably, he thinks of the Nuge. The drives to practice, the late nights watching some stupid baking show, the exhausting days at the rink. He thinks of what it was like to have Nuge by his side every day. It makes his heart ache for Edmonton - not so much the city, but for how things used to be. 

“It was pretty average,” Stromer says dissmissevely, then: “I’ve watched this episode a thousand fuckin’ times, what else is on -”

Stromer’s always loved the little things. 

Sometimes he’ll notice things on the street in New York that make him smile - whether it’s a mom smiling at her baby in the shoulder, a businessman laughing at whoever he’s on the phone with - anything. Little things, really. He loves them. 

He loved - and still loves - the little things at home. Whether it’s his dad proudly bringing out freshly grilled barbeque, or Dylan lighting up when talking about hockey at the dinner table, or Matt getting embarrassed when his mom tells him how proud she is of him. 

Stromer’s always been a home-body. He feeds off of other people’s happiness. His main priority in life is to make other people happy - it seems like that was what he was put on earth to do. 

The thing is, it was different when he met Nuge. 

Nuge was so insanely similar to him. Lights up when talking about the people he loves, always the first to give a compliment, never failing to give a smile.

The thing that’s different is that Nuge doesn’t bury his problems. 

The unbearable weights on Stromer shoulders become too much, taking on other people’s problems as if they were his own to maintain other people’s happiness. 

He never truly thought this was a problem until he met Nuge. Until Nuge came in and made Stromer feel important. Made him feel like his problems were important too, and that he could care about himself just as much as he cared about others. 

He thinks about that a lot. About Nuge.

The Rangers get in a groove.

They win more than they lose in November, and it’s a nice change. Not to be mean to the Oilers, but, like - yeah. It’s a nice change.

He spends time with his new teammates, sees New York, partially begins to understand the subway, and it all seems fine. 

He and Nuge text pretty much every day, despite the 2 hour time difference. It’s mostly stupid stuff, like Nuge sending some meme he saw online and Stromer completely grilling him for it. They send a lot of Snapchats, they’ve got a streak going, and, really, it’s not out of the ordinary. Stromer is thousands of miles away yet Nuge never feels too far from him.

The Rangers win more than the Oilers do in November. They don’t talk about it. 

In fairness, they’ve got no reason to - the Oilers and Rangers are in completely different conferences, for starters. And Stromer loves hockey, loves it like his first love - which he argues that it is - but it’s fucking _stressful,_ and he’s got no desire to talk wins and losses with his friends. It’s really no big deal. 

But Stromer likes winning. He likes winning, he likes contributing, and he really likes New York. 

He doesn’t tell Nuge about that either, but Stromer doesn’t think he’ll really care. 

December is - weird. 

It’s full out _bad_ for the Rangers as a team. They start to lose more than they win, and Stromer’s losing his own groove. 

In mid December, Stromer loses it completely. 

It feels almost as bad as it did in Edmonton - like he’s lost out on the ice, like he hates the sport he gets paid to play. His minutes diminish little by little, and it’s nearly miserable. 

The Rangers blow two leads against Columbus in a loss in OT, and Stromer calls Nuge after it. 

It’s actually after Nuge’s game - a late one (on the east coast) against the Canucks. The Oiler’s lost by a couple, but Nuge scored, which was enough to make Stromer smiles just a little bit. Stromer calls almost two hours after the game ends, way later than he should be up, and Nuge answers after two rings. 

“Stromer?” he asks, voice lined with what Stromer pinpoints as worry. 

Stromer sighs. “Hey, Nuge,” he says, lamely, and he hears Nuge breathe out a sarcastic, quiet laugh. It makes his chest curl up and he wants to smile.

“Is something wrong? What time is it in New York?” Nuge asks, and if we wasn’t worried before he is now, and Stromer doesn’t want that. He leans back against the bed frame, tracing his pointer finger against the soft white linen.

“Doesn’t matter,” Stromer says, and he’s not quite sure which questions of Nuge’s he’s answering. Nuge sighs again, and it makes Stromer want to cry, honestly. He very well _could_ cry. It’s been too much, all of this change, and sometimes it gets so, _so_ overwhelming, and Stromer can’t hold it -

“Could you just -” Stromer starts, not quite knowing where his words should take him next. Nuge waits on the other side of the line, quiet and still. Stromer thinks, thinks about what he wants.

“Could I what, buddy?” Nuge says this calm and soothing, as if he can read Stromer’s mind and understand what he’s thinking. He could very well just hear distress in Stromer’s voice, whether Stromer likes it or not, but Nuge has always been good at it. Always.

Stromer realizes he’s hasn’t answered Nuge. “Just - could you - could you just talk?” it sounds so lame, so lacking, everything Stromer didn’t want it to be but it’s there, out in the open and for Nuge to also not understand.

“You want me to talk?” he asks, and there’s no hint of judgement in Nuge’s voice and for that Stromer is eternally grateful. He nods before remembering Nuge isn't there.

“Yeah,” Stromer breathes, letting himself lean into his pillows. It’s quiet in his apartment, just the occasional honk from a car and the steady breathing coming from Nuge on the phone.

“I - sure, I can do that, Stromer,” Nuge says easily, and Stromer sighs contently. Nuge starts to ramble on about everything and nothing at all, from locker room shenanigans to texts from his older brother to what he did over the Christmas break. It leaves Stromer smiling at Nuge’s voice, laughing until his sides hurt, and smiling until he drifts into sleep while still on the phone with Nuge. He doesn’t hear Nuge say goodnight, and he doesn’t hear Nuge say three simple words. 

A couple days later, the Rangers go to Nashville. They win, 4-3, and they’re all high on it.

Stromer comes off the ice absolutely _pumped,_ fistbumping fans and cheering on the boys. They’re all over the moon, especially with the day off the next day, and with that, they decide to go out.

There are dozens and dozens of places to visit in Downtown Nashville, so they hop around. Haysie and Kreids hit on girls at the first bar, and Stromer doesn’t. At the second bar, it’s a lot louder, for which Stromer uses as an excuse to not pick up. He sits in a booth next to Mika and across from Brady and Jimmy. He’s eyeing Quickie, of all people, who’s been having a drink with some blonde for almost 30 minutes. He sips on his beer lazily, suddenly uncomfortable and useless in his skin. He doesn’t know what prompts if.

“Earth to Stromer,” he glances across the table at Jimmy, and then and Mika next to him. He hopes it’s dark enough that they can’t see his face burning up. 

“You okay?” Brady asks, and Stromer nods quickly. He’s fine, it’s all good, perfectly amazing. He excuses himself to get another drink, and orders some random cocktail that the bartender recommended for broken hearts. 

Stromer gets back to the hotel at nearly three in the morning. He stumbles into his room, throws his coat on the group and steps out of his shoes somewhere. He sprawls out on his bed and thinks a minute before grabbing his phone out of his pocket. He unlocks it and clicks on Nuge’s contact, doesn’t think twice before calling him. He doesn’t think at all, basically. 

“Nuge,” Stromer says, drawing out the ‘u’ before Nuge even picks up the phone. The phone rings four times before he hears Nuge’s voice.

“Stromer? What’s up?” he asks, and he seems calm. Stromer laughs, for some reason. He doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something funny about Nuge’s voice. It makes him giddy. 

“Oh, God,” Nuge laughs, and then: “You’re fucking wasted, Stromer.” Stromer bursts out laughing after that, Nuge joining in shortly after.

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” Stromer says, smiling ears to ear. Nuge laughs again, and Stromer doesn’t think.

“I like your laugh,” he says, pressing the phone closer to his ear. He heads Nuge more clearly now, hearing when he moves his phone the slightest bit. 

“Yeah? You like my laugh?” Nuge asks, smile in his voice, as if he finds this whole situation amusing. Stromer nods, and Nuge can’t see him. 

“Yep, I do,” he says, matter of factly, and Nuge chuckles. Stromer smiles again. “I think you’re just hot, honestly,” he says. and Nuge stops laughing. 

“What?” he asks, more confused than any other emotion, but to Stromer he just seems completely curious. Stromer agreed once more.

“Yeah, really hot,” he says, voice closer to his phone, and he hears Nuge suck in a breath. There’s no other question coming from him, mostly silence besides some cars. 

Stromer thinks about Nuge harder, through his drunken haze. “I wish I could blow you right here right now,” he laughs, like everything he’s saying is absolutely no big deal. 

Nuge doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Stromer. You’re drunk,” he says, and it’s true. Stromer’s drunk - he’s so fucking wasted, yet here he is, on the phone with Ryan Nugent-Hopkins at three in the morning. 

“So, babe?” he asks, his lips practically pressed against his phone, unaware of the lines he’s crossing. Nuge lets out a shaky breath that Stromer hears. 

Nuge doesn’t say anything. Stromer can hear him, can hear small voices coming from the other side of the line. It’s hard to decipher what it is, at first, but gets it after a moment.

“I bet you look so good right now,” Stromer drawls, letting his voice get closer to the phone. He can faintly hear Nuge’s quickening breaths. Stromer lets his free hand unzip his pants pockets and he lays his hand over his boxers on top of his already erected dick. 

“Fuck, Stromer,” Nuge gasps out, and it makes something inside Stromer curl and stays like that, as Stromer palms himself thinking of Nuge, Nuge, Nuge.

“Babe, I bet you look so fucking good,” Stromer says again, then adds, “for me.” Nuge lets out a concealed moan, and Stromer’s dick jumps. It makes him more needy, more desperate, but he’s in control here, no matter how many drinks he’s had. 

“So good for me, fuck, Nuge,” Stromer groans out, and Nuge lets out a louder moan, and Stromer lets his hand start to stroke his dick, then. He’s not going to last much longer, drunk like this, and from the way Nuge is reacting, he doesn’t think he will either. 

“Jesus, Stromer,” Nuge breathes out, and Stromer’s nearly gone, after that. He finishes quickly, immediately ruining the hotel sheets and he hears Nuge soon after, and it’s all too much. 

Well. 

Stromer, through his drunken mindset, is already panicking, doesn’t feel as fucked up as he did when he made the call. It’s almost a minute before he remembers that Nuge is still on the line, and he’s quick to dismiss himself.

“I gotta go,” he mumbles quickly, thankful that Nuge can’t see him right now. 

“Wait, Stromer -”

Stromer ends the call, throws his phone onto the floor, pushes the gross comforter off of his body, and curls up into a needed sleep. 

It’s nearly five days before Stromer texts Nuge again. 

He doesn’t really _mean_ to ignore him - the Rangers have a game on New Year’s Eve in St. Louis and a few early in the new year. Stromer’s never been one to ignore someone at all, actually - and he prays that Nuge knows that. He should, after all of those years in Edmonton, behind all struggles and success. 

Stromer’s just woken up after his pregame nap before a game against the Islanders at home when he decides to text Nuge. It’s been too long, and it feels weird going so long without texting him. Stromer secretly hopes that Nuge had forgotten - up until he realizes that _Nuge_ was sober, and Stromer was the actual drunk idiot on the phone. 

It’s - it’s fine. All great. 

_hey i’m really sorry about what happened a few days ago, talk soon?_

He locks his phone after hitting send, changes into his suit before Nuge responds. He’s always been quick to reply to Stromer. 

_don’t worry ab it, u were plastered lol. can u call rn?_

Stromer looks at the time on his phone - he’s still got fifteen minutes until Tony is picking him up to go to The Garden. 

_yea sure_

Nuge calls him a few seconds after, and Stromer accepts the call. 

“Hey, man,” Nuge says, sounding a little bit tired, his voice cracking slightly at his words. Stromer lets his lip curl up, just happy to hear Nuge’s voice. 

“Hey,” he says, lamely, and laughs because of it. “How are you?”

He hears Nuge sigh. “Meh. Not doing so hot right now - mostly just hockey shit,” Nuge replies before Stromer can ask any further questions. Stromer thinks back when they were together in the car back in November, inexplicably, and remembers the break they both have coming in a few weeks. 

“Looks like both of us couldn’t get our act together to get sent to San Jose, eh?” Stromer chuckles, and he hears Nuge let out a breathy laugh. 

“No shit,” Nuge agrees, laughing lightly and not sounding so down as he did before. Stromer rubs the material of his pants over his quad, choosing his words delicately. 

“Have any plans over the break?” he asks, bracing himself for the worst. Really, it’s just a yes or no answer, but Stromer’s prone to overthinking shit. So. 

“No, not really,” Nuge says quietly, and Stromer’s chest lifts up ever so slightly. For some weird reason, that’s really what he wanted Nuge to say. Not that he can really explain it, but. Yeah. 

“Well,” Stromer starts, and he’s only got a couple more minutes until he has to head down to the lobby - he knows Tony hates when he’s late. “Would you want to come over to New York?” Stromer decides to send it, because fuck it, he wants to see Nuge _so badly._

There’s little hesitation in Nuge’s voice when he says, “That would be awesome, Stromer. If you’ll have me.” Stromer looks around at his apartment, and it’s really not suitable for two people to sleep in, unless Nuge is good with sleeping on the couch. Or Stromer could sleep on the couch, to be a good guest. 

Or they could share his bed. Stromer thinks about that one a little more. 

“I’ve got plenty of room,” Stromer says, then, “but I don’t know if I have enough for you,” he teases this knowingly, getting a laugh out of Nuge. 

“Oh, fuck you, Stromer,” he says. Stromer bites his lip. 

“You wish.”

Nuge laughs harder this time. “You are an asshole, you know that?” Stromer’s smiling ear to ear, now. 

“I’ve been told once or twice,” he agrees, then gets a text from Tony telling him to hurry his ass up, and that he’s here. 

“I gotta get to my game,” Stromer says, and he feels a little bummed that he can’t stay on the phone with Nuge. He’ll call him after the game, he decides. 

“You go do that, see you,” Nuge says, and Stromer can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Bye,” Stromer answers, ending the call and gathering his stuff, texting Tony that he can shut his ass up and wait a couple of damn minutes. 

They lose to the Isles, Stromer’s former team, which just _sucks_. Stromer scores which is pretty baller, but they drop it late in the third after completely outplaying them. He returns to his apartment a little later because of the New York traffic, and he checks his phone for the first time since leaving hours ago. He sees the stupid fucking emoji that is Nuge’s contact on his lock screen. 

_booked my flight. see u soon :)_

Stromer smiles. He’s been doing that a lot more lately. 

Nuge flies in on a Thursday, the day before the All Star Game. 

Stromer’s waiting at the pick up - but he’s got a car coming because driving in New York is really something else. Nuge opted to take the Red Eye, which Stromer had advised against, but Nuge is Nuge and he’ll happily disagree with Stromer any day. 

He’ll be regretting his choice at about 12:00pm, Stromer decides. 

He sees Nuge immediately, wearing a grey beanie, winter coat and khakis, dragging his suitcase behind him. Stromer smiles, and Nuge smiles back. Despite what Stromer’s thinking, he does not run up to Nuge. Instead, he sticks his cold hands in his pockets and keeps this grin on his face like the idiot that he is. 

Nuge is by his side quickly, and he’s got this stupid half smile on his face. “Hey, Stromer,” he says simply, and Stromer laughs. 

“Hey, you idiot,” Stromer says before going against himself and hugging Nuge. Nuge taps him on the back a few times while Stromer just holds on. He wishes he could keep holding on in the middle of Laguardia airport in front of all of these people, he wishes he could hold onto Nuge for hours, but he doesn’t, because he can’t. He pulls away before they’re given any weird looks, but Nuge doesn’t seem to mind. 

“How’re we getting out of here, it’s cold!” Nuge laughs, and Stromer watches his lips, then the breath of air he can see coming from Nuge’s mouth. He tries not to stare too long.

“Car’s coming in a few,” Stromer says, trying to steer his gaze away from Nuge’s, like, mouth. Nuge looks at him knowingly, raises his eyebrows in a teasing manner, and Stromer’s mouth goes dry. Nuge’s looks softens, then, like he can read Stromer’s face like an open book. 

“You can’t drive me, Stromer?” Nuge asks and _fuck_ the guy. Stromer hits him on the shoulder, laughing. 

“Fuck you,” he tells off Nuge.

“You wish,” Nuge retorts, just as Stromer did all those weeks ago, and Stromer swallows his words, looking at Nuge. 

Their car shows up then. 

Stromer insists that Nuge goes skating with him at Rockefeller Center. Nuge thinks otherwise. 

“Come _on_ ,” Stromer throws a sock at him, and Nuge swats it away. They’re at Stromer’s apartment now, Nuge laid out on Stromer’s bed with Stromer leaning on the doorway. Nuge groans, throws the sock back at him. 

“M’too tired,” Nuge mumbles, and Stromer _laughs_ at him. 

“And you said you wouldn’t be too tired after the Red Eye,” Stromer accuses him, and Nuge sits up. He flips off Stromer, but he’s smiling. Stromer walks over to his bed, over to Nuge, and sticks out his hand. 

“Get up, we’re going skating,” Stromer says matter-of-factly, Nuge grabs his hand, and Stromer pulls him up. He squeezes Nuge’s hand when he yawns, because he can, then lets go when Nuge opens his eyes. 

“You remember how to skate?” Nuge asks, voice tired but teasing. Stromer hits him in the shoulder. 

“Can’t believe my guest is insulting my date choice,” Stromer says and immediately wants to take it back. Nuge raises his eyebrows and Stromer feels his face heating up. Nuge grabs his coat from on top of the bed, not taking his eyes off of Stromer. He starts to put it on and Stromer doesn’t dare to move. 

“Not insulting,” Nuge says, voice soft and calm, then, “you should get your jacket on, yeah? Don’t want to get hypothermia on a date.” Nuge is smiling, which Strome chalks up as a win. 

Stromer turns around and lets out a breath as he makes his way to his coat closet. It’s going to be a long few days, if it’s gonna stay like this. 

They skate together, amongst all of these other New Yorkers. Stromer feels like he should feel stares on him, but he’s new to the city, and Nuge is always in Edmonton, so no one really questions them.

It’s not - it’s not a _date_ date. It’s like - a friend date. Like. Like what friends do. They hang out, they skate, they chirp each other for each and every mistake they make. A friend date - that’s what Stromer settles on. It should be that way, it has to be.

Not that he wouldn’t want it to be. Like. A _date_ date. He’s been on a few of those - less than he’d care to admit, but it’s fine. He’s taken a girl skating before - it’s romantic and shit, he knows. He would look over at the girl he’d prefer not to name, she’d smile and he’d smile at her. It ended up lasting Stromer four months before he broke it off because he felt off. She didn’t think that was a real reason. 

He looks at Nuge now, and Nuge grins at him, and Stromer’s can feel his ears heating up when he smiles back. It’s different now, when he looks at Nuge. He can’t quite pinpoint it. 

He decides he likes the feeling when Nuge smiles at him. 

They go get food after at some boujee restaurant in midtown. They sit across from each other and Stromer’s palms are sweating. He’s not sure when he got like this. He’s sure he’s never felt like this before. 

He’s sure. 

Stromer is staring at the candle between them when Nuge knocks their feet together. Stromer looks up and Nuge is smiling, until he isn’t because he can probably read Stromer’s face. 

Stromer has got to stop wearing his heart on his sleeve, jeez. 

Nuge blows the candle out and Stromer chuckles, and then they get their food and they eat, like friends on a friends date do. 

They get back to Stromer’s apartment close to 10, and Nuge flops onto Stromer’s bed. Stromer kind of watches for a second. For just a second. 

“You wanna sleep there?” Stromer asks, then decides he’s being too easy. It doesn’t matter that Nuge is his guest, it’s his bed, damn it. 

“You’ll let me?” Nuge asks, smiling. Stromer thinks that Nuge’s cheeks must hurt from smiling all this damn time. Stromer prepares himself, cracks his knuckles because there’s no way in hell Nuge is getting off that easy. 

“Not without a fight,” Stromer says before jumping onto the bed and Nuge laughs. Grabbing Stromer’s arm - and they’re off. 

It’s a lot of kicking and fighting and them acting like seven year old boys when Stromer ends up on top of Nuge. Nuge grabs Stromer’s shoulders, steadying him so they can both catch their breath. 

It’s at this time that Stromr realizes how close he is to Nuge. His nose is almost touching Nuge’s as he grips Nuge’s side. Nuge looks him in the eyes and then - fuck - his lips. Stromer can barely catch his breath thanks to the fighting moments prior. He doesn’t think that’s the only reason why, though. 

Before Stromer can think anymore, he presses his lips against Nuge’s. 

It’s more of a chaste kiss than he really wants it to be, and he’s not kissing him for long until he truly realizes what he’s just done, and he pulls away from Nuge quickly, with an embarrassing smacking noise that makes Stromer’s face heat up.

Stromer’s heart is beating out of his chest as he tries to catch his breath. He almost says something, almost, when Nuge smiles and connects their lips again. 

It’s more controlled this time, starting off warm and soft before slowly growing more needy. Stromer feels Nuge’s lips against his own, his hands in his hair, and his body pressing against his from underneath. It’s really everything Stromer never knew he needed - and everything in between. 

Nuge pulls away this time, mostly because they can’t seem to stop and catch their breath. This time, Nuge speaks up. 

“You want this?” Nuge asks, and Stromer nods quickly, chest heaving. Nuge doesn’t look convinced.

“No, Stromer, like - for real,” Nuge says again, and Stromer gets what he’s saying. It’s been a long day, they’re both tired and from events in the past, Stromer can see why Nuge thinks this is only just a hoo- up. Stromer wants to say that it isn’t that Nuge is all that he wants and everything that he needs, but he really doesn’t want to hear his voice so much, so he doesn’t say that.

“Yeah, Nuge. I want this,” Stromer says, adding, “for real.”

Nuge smiles then, wraps his hand behind Stromer’s head and neck, and connects their lips, and this time, it’s for real. 

If you had asked Stromer in November that’d he’d be Ryan Nugent-Hopkins’ boyfriend in January, he would’ve said you were out of your fucking mind. 

They talk every day for the rest of January, then February, then March, and it’s the end of the season. It’s sappy, it’s gross, it’s romantic, and Stromer loves it. He loves every bit of it.

There’s something about the hearts that they send each other on iMessage, the goofy Snapchat’s that Nuge sends from the locker-room, and the midnight FaceTime calls that make Stromer’s heart flutter. He’s been in a relationship before, but this time, it feels all too real. The Rangers play in Edmonton in mid-March, and Stromer was more than happy to play against Nuge - despite losing in overtime. Neither of them score, which they laugh about in Stromer’s hotel room, in between the hundreds of kisses and hands roaming on skin.

Then it’s April. 

It’s just - Stromer goes home in a week. He’s conflicted

Ever since Stromer and Nuge became official - just to themselves, of course - Stromer’s played with the idea of coming out. He hates secrets - he absolutely sucks at keeping them, Nuge says - but this one seems all too big and all too scary. He thinks about his family. He loves his family more than anything - and he’s grown up knowing that his family will love him no matter what. 

No matter what. 

Stromer knows his family will love him no matter what. And despite how scary coming out is for him - at least the idea of it - he keeps this promise from his family in mind when he calls his mom the day before the dad’s trip. 

The phone rings four times, and Stromer almost thinks that his mom won’t even answer, but then she does. 

“Hi, Ryan, how are you?” she asks, and her voice is so fucking _happy,_ and Stromer contemplates hanging up the phone. He doesn’t, though, but he probably waits too long before responding to his mom. 

“I’m good, Mom,” he says, and he cringes at his voice as it shakes, and he knows that there’s no getting out of this now. 

He hears a shift on the other side of the line. “Are you sure?” she asks, and it’s inevitable now. 

“Yeah, Mom, just -” he pauses, and his mom waits, waits. “I’m seeing someone, actually.”

He breathes out a sigh and hopes that his mom can’t hear it. She probably does.

“Ryan, that’s great news! What’s her name?” she asks, and she’s so excited that Ryan contemplates lying to his own mother about his relationship status - and sexuality. It’s hard, but Ryan sucks in a breath. 

“It’s not - a girl, Mom,” he says, and he closes his eyes, opens them and he’s still here, sitting on the shitty leather couch in his small New York City apartment. 

“I’m sorry?” his mom says, and Stromer _hates_ this. Yet, he thinks of Nuge, his smile, how much his parents loved hanging out with him back in Edmonton, and he continues. 

“It’s not a girl,” Stromer says, then, “it’s Nu- it’s Ryan. Ryan Nugent-Hopkins, you know him,” Stromer is rambling now, he knows, and he knows that his mother knows who Nuge is, but he feels like he needs to clarify, in a situation like this.

“Oh, honey,” Stromer holds his breath when his mom speaks again. 

“That’s great. That’s so, so great,” she says, and Stromer lets out a shaky, relieved breath and looks up at the ceiling. His leg is bouncing up and down and he feels like a 300 pound weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. 

“You think so?” he asks, and all of a sudden he feels like he’s going to cry. It’s all just too much for him, now. 

“Of course, sweetie,” his mom says, and now _her_ voice is watery and Stromer will absolutely lose it if she starts crying. 

“You know, I always thought there was something between you and him,” she says, and Stromer hears the smile in her voice and he laughs, ignoring the stinging in his eyes. 

Stromer swipes at his nose. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” his mom sounds happy, which makes him so, so happy. 

“I remember when you got traded to Edmonton and you showed me a highlight reel video of him,” his mom says, and he makes this embarrassed noise but he’s smiling, because that’s his mom, alright. 

“He went first overall, Mom, I was pumped,” Stromer laughs, and so does his mom, and at that moment it doesn’t feel so bad.

He then tells her he has to go, and his mom asks him if he wants to talk to anyone else. 

Stromer thinks about it. He’ll see Dylan and Matt soon, but his dad - he doesn’t want to have to tell him himself. 

“Could you just tell Dad?” Stromer asks. “I’m gonna talk to Dylan and Matt when I get home next week, but - could you -”

“‘Course, I can, Ry,” she says easily, and for that, Stromer is eternally grateful.

His mom tells him that she wants Nuge to come to Mississauga for a couple of weeks. Stromer loves her _so_ much. 

They end the call soon after, and Nuge is the first person Stromer texts. 

_i told my mom about us_

It’s a few minutes before Nuge responds: 

_holy shit stromer_

_that’s amazing_

_im so proud of u man_

Stromer smiles. He just - he likes Nuge so much. 

_thanks nuge <3_

Stromer thinks for a moment before adding: 

_my mom wants u to come home for a couple weeks_

_if u can, obvi. its fine if it doesn’t work_

Nuge responds quickly: 

_id love to, stromer :)_

Stromer can barely hear the cars honking in the busy New York streets over the sounds of his heartbeat in his ears. 

When Stromer gets home that next week, he’s greeted with hugs and kisses from his mom at the airport. 

“I’m so happy to see you, Ry,” Stromer’s mother says, and Stromer’s heart is so full. He’s so happy to be home, so happy to finally live hockey free for a while. He turns to his dad next to his mom, and - 

He’s got tears in his eyes. Stromer’s convinced he is going to cry. 

“Hey, Dad,” Stromer says, his voice shaking, and his dad just hugs him. 

Stromer wraps his arms around his father, hugging him harder than he ever has before. Harder than when he wold gold at a peewee tournament, harder than when he found out his Grandpa had died, harder than he did when he got drafted. He feels a tear run down his face, it’s so much. 

“We’re so happy to have you home, kid,” his dad says, and that just makes Ryan hug him even harder. 

That night, Stromer’s mother announces from the kitchen where she’s making dinner that Nuge is coming to visit for a couple of weeks, after Stromer had told her. Dylan and Matt both raise their eyebrows, and Stromer freezes. 

He was going to come out to Dylan and Matt. 

He was absolutely not planning to come out to them now. 

The three of them are sitting in the den playing Madden, and Dylan looks at him. 

“Nuge is coming?” he asks and Stromer nods his head, because congratulations Dylan, you are not fucking _deaf._

“Yep,” Stromer says, and his foot is shaking, and Dylan is looking at him weirdly. He pauses the game. Stromer knows he’s dead - Dylan can read him like no other. Matt looks at the two of them, slightly pissed that they paused the game. 

“Why is this a big deal? Can we please play?” he groans, and Ryan wants to shoot him, honestly. In a loving, brotherly way, of course. Ryan’s face now must be a dead giveaway to Dylan, because Ryan glances at Dylan’s face and he’s concentrated, alright. Ryan looks at his feet, the wool socks his Grandma had knit him for Christmas. 

“Ry,” Dylan says, and that’s all Ryan needs. He knows, he senses it, and now Matt’s looking at them closely. 

Ryan lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Nuge and I - we -” he stumbles through his words, and thinks of Nuge on the phone with him at the airport, talking about how excited he was to come and see him and his family, and hang out with his brothers. 

“Nuge and I are together,” he says, but for further clarification, he says, “I’m gay." 

It’s the first time he’s put it like that, and _God,_ it’s so relieving to say. All of those long talks with Nuge on the phone about their relationship, the borderline panic attacks, the thoughts that occupied his brain and gnawed at his thoughts - they’re all being thrown out the window and Ryan feels free. 

And then - Dylan’s grinning, and so is Matt, and - it’s perfect. 

“For real?” Matt asks, and Dylan chuckles at his voice going all high pitched. Matt makes a face at Dylan and Ryan laughs, he really _laughs_. 

“Yeah, for real,” he says, and Dylan pats him on the shoulder, and Ryan’s face feels so red from all of this. Dylan must notice - he definitely does, actually, and he does immediately. 

“Mr. Tomato over here getting it,” Dylan laughs, and so does Matt and then Ryan’s right back to low key hating his brothers. 

“Oh, fuck you,” he says, then, “let’s just play the damn game,” and the three will happily comply. 

Nuge comes to Mississauga on a Tuesday. 

Stromer hugs him when he meets him at the airport. He gives him a kiss on the cheek when he opens the trunk to throw Nuge’s suitcase in the car. Nuge makes too many annoying comments about how he’s _finally_ driving him like a “real boyfriend” should, in which Stromer just wants to punch him. And kiss him. It goes like that a lot. 

When they get to Stromer’s house, his mom meets them at the door. 

“Oh, Ryan, we’re so happy to have you here,” she says, and she immediately goes in for the hug. Nuge lets go of his suitcase and hugs her back. Stromer smiles at the two of them, grabs Nuge’s suitcase before it topples over. 

“Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. Strome,” he says like the polite idiot he is, and Stromer wants to roll his eyes. 

Yet, he’s still grinning. Huh. 

“Please, call me Trish,” his mom says, and Nuge glances at Stromer, and Stromer practically melts under his gaze. 

This is going to be _impossible._ In the best way. 

It’s when Nuge walks in and sees Dylan and Matt in the kitchen that Stromer realizes that he never told Nuge that he came out to them. Stromer smiles mischievously at Nuge, throws his arms over Nuge’s shoulders and smiles at him. Nuge’s got this confused look on his face that Stromer finds cute and hilarious. 

Dylan grins at Stromer, when he sees them. “Hey, love birds!” he shouts from across the room, and Nuge looks at Stromer with a bright red face and eyes wide. Stromer nods at Nuge as to say _yes, I know._

“Yeah, yeah, Dyl,” Stromer retorts, slings his arm off of Nuge’s shoulders and nudges him in the side. 

“Lemme give you a full introduction to the madness,” Stromer says, and Nuge grins, nodding. Stromer’s heart does this swooping thing. 

Stromer’s dad grills hotdogs and hamburgers for them, and chats the day away with Nuge. It makes Stromer beyond elated. 

Stromer’s sitting next to Dylan on the couch, looking out the glass door where Nuge and Stromer’s dad are assembling burgers and Dylan thumps him. Stromer turns to him and thumps his back before stopping at the look on Dylan’s face. 

“You’re in love with him,” Dylan says, and it’s said as more of a fact than anything else. 

Stromer thinks about it for a minute. 

He thinks about Nuge’s smile when he’s teasing Stromer, his eyes lighting up when he talks about a good play he made in a game, his fidgeting fingers when he gets nervous. He thinks of all of the times he’s been with Nuge and, inexplicably, the feeling he gets when he’s with him that washes over his whole body. 

So, yeah. Maybe he is. 

“Yep,” Stromer says quietly, and Dylan gives him a hug before Nuge and his father walk in the door with dinner. 

Later that night, after stuffing themselves with barbeque and cupcakes from the local bakery, Stromer shows Nuge to his room. 

There’s two twin beds, one that’s Stromer’s and the other’s being Dylan’s, who happily moved when Stromer asked him to, for which he’s very grateful. 

“So,” Stromer says when Nuge sets his bag on his bed. Nuge turns around, mouth itching to smile. 

“How d’you like it here?” Stromer asks, and he waits for an answer. Nuge walks toward him, puts a hand on Stromer’s shoulder and the other on his cheek. 

“I love it,” Nuge says and it’s so, so genuine. Stromer grins and Nuge kisses him, sweet and full. When they pull away, Nuge is still close, and Stromer can feel his breath on his face. 

“And I love you,” he whispers, close to Stromer’s ear so only he could hear it, despite the empty room. Stromer’s heart is beating faster and louder than it ever has before, and he wonders if Nuge can hear it. 

“I love you too,” he says, and this time when they kiss, it’s for real. 

**Author's Note:**

> eafay -
> 
> i know this doesn’t exactly follow the prompt you gave me with these two ryan’s, but i really hope you like it anyway, and i hope the happy ending made you smile :)


End file.
